


No More Want

by Ribbonshalos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, talking it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-28 23:10:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribbonshalos/pseuds/Ribbonshalos
Summary: Tied up back to back, McCree can finally get some things off of his chest to Sombra.





	No More Want

Sombra tenses against the binds. A harsh breath falls from his mouth, almost swearing at the pressure. The rope cuts into his shoulders and around his waist, but more specifically, they ensnare and trap his hands beside Sombra’s. Back to back, tangled up like two flies in a spider’s web, they sit on the bare floor.

“You’ve got to stop pulling against me, darlin,” McCree mutters. The words rumble in his lungs and against her spine. “This rope is going to cut my skin.”

“It’s not just cutting you,” she huffs, irritated at their predicament. Understandably, she’s not in the best mood. He insisted on helping with the little endeavor of taking the records and receipts of a corrupted company. This has nothing to do with either Talon or Overwatch. There is no betrayal of him going with a Talon agent. There is no double crossing for Sombra tonight. They are just together.

It was supposed to be in and out. What Sombra thought to be light security turned into a full force of men in a matter of seconds. They hardly made it to the top level of the building before they were forced to their knees with guns pointed at their heads.

They dragged them into this bare, empty room with one gray door. An uncovered bulb glares down upon them as they await the company president. For whatever reason, they’re not immediately putting bullets into their heads.

Sombra squirms once again, forcing McCree to lean back against her spine in her struggle. He exhales as the rope digs into his upper arms.

“Sombra, unless you’re trying to get something sharp to cut us free, stop squirming,” he growls. The binds around both of their hands nearly cut off the blood circulation. The strain of her hands and the brush of her hair as she lean backs is at least warm and familiar.

“Lo siento, vaquero, but I’m getting bored of this bondage.” He turns his head back to find a corner of a cheeky smile. Her lack of concern would have brought a grin to his lips were he not irritable and less than fond of the tight ropes.

“If you don’t have a plan, we’re stuck here,” he says, facing back to the door. The idea of kicking it down is entertaining, but useless, so long as their ankles remain bound.

“We’re not stuck, more like inconvenient,” her voice dusts against his hair. “Inside the very edge of my coat is a knife, McCree.”

Perking up at this new information, McCree adjusts to Sombra straightening her spine. Her hands loosen, allowing his bound wrists to move more freely.

“You didn’t bother to mention this a little earlier?” he tenses as Sombra lifts her butt off of the ground. Arching her back as best as she can for him, he blindly searches with his fingers. The edge of her coat becomes a conquest while maneuvering around Sombra’s hands.

“I was trying to get it myself, but you kept crying about me moving,” snark floods her voice as he traces the bottom of her back. The motion floods him with late nights and foxglove. The curve of her hips underneath his hands nearly makes him forget the cutting ropes.

But it never lasts. He only ever wakes up to an empty bed. She refuses to say a word before leaving, and refuses to keep him at all times.

When they first started warming each other’s nights, he was fine with the arrangement. They are both wanted and in hiding. It could never be anything more. Then, it was, and he wanted more. Speaking of what they have as being more than just late nights makes her leave all the more early.

Her impatience stirs him out of his thoughts with a little tug. His lingering fingertips certainly aren’t helping.

“Watch your hands. That knife could cut you if you handle it wrong,” her voice drops low in warning, with a hint of something else dangerous. “Maybe after, but we have to disappear first.”

Her suggestion is nothing new, but it tastes like vinegar today. As his fingers finally grip the edge of her coat, a crinkle appears in his brow.

“You’re good at that, aren’t you?” he says.

Her body stills as he finds the hilt of the knife. The image of her purple-blue sharply studying his tone and body posture floods his mind.

“It sounds like you have something to say,” her voice no longer holds a playful edge. It’s only sharp, and defensive now.

He wants to sigh, or to shut his mouth, but a curse stumbles out instead. While her spine presses against his, he finds himself wanting to see her face all the more. Her body is beautiful and stuns him well into the night, but that is not all he wants. The sharp tones of her voice, and the slippery, swift movements of her fingers keep him hungry, desperate. Not just for love, but for her presence. Her voice.

“Every time I wake up, you’re gone,” he says. “I never know where you are, or if you’re thinking about all of this. Do you ever wonder what’s between us?”

Her head turns, facing forward. The soft texture of her hair falls against his neck. He focuses on slipping the knife out of the holster hidden inside the coat.

“It should have been clear what we are, McCree.” The up and down motion of her lungs move kindly against his spine. He’s counted her breaths before in the few times she fell asleep before him. “We don’t get that luxury.”

“Are you so against that?” he demands, finding fury and impatience overtaking his throat. “You wouldn’t keep coming back if you didn’t find me as something good.”

He’s desperate. Their bodies are tied together and yet he’s asking for her all the more. He knows her love, and her touch. He knows how soft and tangible she can become. Is it so wrong for him to want that every second? Not just her body, but her soul?

“I can’t afford more.” It comes out without feeling, but he knows her tricks now. He knows what she’ll do to mislead and deceive. It won’t bruise his skin or slow his running.

“I know it won’t be easy, but we can make it work,” he affirms. The knife finally slips free from inside her coat. “It’s only if you want me or not.”

Silence touches for a few moments as he maneuvers the knife in his grasp. He angles it with delicate precision to begin sawing through the ropes trapping their wrists together. Her fingers curl loosely as the rope begins giving in to the blade.

“You are too sure about something you don’t know everything about,” she says quietly. Her unmoving body does nothing but reinforce McCree’s determination. There is doubt in her chest. If there is doubt, there is a chance she can’t lie herself out of this one.

“I want you, in the morning and at night and every second in between.” He breathes as he moves his hands to begin cutting through the rope around their waist. “I don’t want to sleep with a ghost anymore.”

One note of a laugh falls out of her mouth coldly. There must be a funny irony she finds in his words, but she doesn’t speak again until all the rope of their body falls away. Tossing back the bonds, they both get to their feet. Their hands work into their taunt and bruised flesh, awakening the blood once more.

Her purple-blue gaze rises to his. With his chest bared open, heart and rib cage revealed, he awaits the movement of his lips. As she rubs her wrists, Sombra works her jaw.

“Let’s disappear, mi amor.” Is all she says before she steps past him. The door awaits as he turns to watch her. The confusion of her actions strikes harshly against her words.

“Mi amor?” he finally asks.

“I have no hope of coming up with as many ridiculous pet names as you, but it’s something.” She faces him, all too casual and relaxed. As if declaring her love is in no way a big deal.

McCree lets it echo in his mind, impatiently waiting for the next time she calls him that. Her first sappy endearment, and it’s melting him like ice on a hot sidewalk.

“It’s something,” he agrees with a becoming grin.


End file.
